Trinity in the Trenches

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year C3 Comments

Romans 5:1-5

Ok, here it is! The sermon that you’ve been waiting for! I wouldn’t call it a sugar-stick sermon, but it’s certainly a hopeful sermon. And oh, how we need some hope today! Because, in today’s world, we wonder how we’re still standing.

Our epistle lectionary lesson Romans 5:1-5 enters our turbulent time like a divine disruption, a flame refusing to be swallowed by the night. It doesn’t offer quick fixes or shallow answers, but it offers deep, lasting, transforming, Trinitarian hope.

I know, I know. Some of you have never been big fans of the Trinity. That’s because you’re not fans of any doctrine or creed, especially if it was decreed by the empire centuries ago, with other edicts and declarations that have caused more harm in the world than good. You don’t get it, and I get that. The Trinity is a strange concept. Three in one? Why three? Why not 7 or 12 or 17 or 153? Actually, I kinda like 153!

The good news for us on this day we call “Trinity Sunday” is that the Trinity doesn’t have to be a dusty old imperial doctrine. The Trinity can be divine, living reality.

I know, I know. Some of you didn’t like the sound of that. A preacher telling you what reality is. We have too much gaslighting these days from the power-that-be, and you’ve come to church this morning to hear the truth!

But hear me out. I am saying that maybe the Trinity, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, or the Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer if you prefer, is not an ancient puzzle to solve. It’s a real, living, transforming, presence in which to dwell. The Holy Trinity is something to be lived more than learned, experienced more than explained, something or someone with whom to relate more than to understand. It’s not abstract; it’s active. It’s moving. It’s breathing. It’s calling, prodding, pushing, pulling us toward who we have been and are still being created to be.

Listen again to how the Apostle Paul describes the Trinity in his letter to the Romans:

“Since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ… and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”

Let’s walk together in this text and let the Trinity meet us in our grief, our protests, our healing, and our rising.

“Since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God…”

To say, we are “justified by faith” is to say that God, the source of all that is, made a decision about us before the world could.

Before society tagged you as expendable, God named you “beloved”. Before empires wrote policies and made decrees to discount or disappear you, God wrote your name in glory.

  • Before redlining maps were drawn, God marked your entire neighborhood and called it blessed.
  • Before school districts were zoned to maintain inequality, God declared your mind worthy of wisdom.
  • Before they looked at your skin, your gender, your sexuality, and your zip code, and said “unworthy” God looked at you and said “very good!”
  • Before they erased you from textbooks, God had written your story in the Lamb’s Book of Life!

And it is God, the creator of everything, the energy of, in, and behind the universe, Love Love’s self, who is the one who declares peace over us— a cosmic, reconciling, justice-making peace.

It’s not the peace of silence. It’s not the peace of the status quo.

It’s not the peace one enjoys when they decide to play it safe.

It’s not the peace that comes with caution, following the rules or staying out of trouble.

It’s the peace that always lifts up the lowly, the least and the left out, even if it means flipping a table or two to do it!

It’s the peace that comes with the freedom of being justified. It’s not passive peace. It’s a prophetic peace. It’s the peace that tears down what divides and oppresses and builds what unifies and liberates in its place.

  • It’s the kind of peace that marched with Dr. King and bled with John Lewis on the Edmund Pettus Bridge.
  • It’s the kind of peace that says “Black Lives Matter” not to exclude anyone, but to expose what peace really demands.
  • It’s not the kind of peace that settles, but the kind of peace that agitates until justice rolls down like waters.

Let’s look at the next line:

“…through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand…” (v.2)

Jesus is our access point to grace. Jesus didn’t just die because of our sins; He lived to show us what love looks like under empire, under oppression, under the shadow of the cross by living a life of grace.

Grace is not a loophole. It’s a lifestyle. Grace is what empowers us to stand tall in the rubble, to stand in front of an army deployed by a corrupt authoritarian and still speak truth. Grace is opportunity. Grace is an opening, a door, a window, even a crack. Grace is how Jesus reached out to the woman at the well, touched the leper, and restored the outcast.

And Paul says, Jesus is the access to this grace.

Sadly, this is where the church has really messed up its theology. Grace is not a ticket to heaven to escape the world. Grace is the opportunity to bring heaven to the world.

This is the grace Jesus came to give.

So let me say this prophetically: If your theology makes room for grace but not justice, you haven’t met Jesus yet.

If your gospel preaches forgiveness but ignores the systems that crucify, it’s not good news. It’s a performance.

Christ gives us grace to stand. Not to retreat. Not to hide. But to stand—

· To stand in the courtroom when the system is tilted, and still speak truth to power, with trembling hands but with a steady soul.

· To stand in the streets, in the pouring rain or the scorching heat and still lift up signs and prayers for a justice that won’t wait.

· To stand in your weary body—chronically ill, over-policed, underpaid—and say, “My presence is still a miracle!”

· To stand in grief when you’ve buried too many dreams, too many loved ones, and somehow still hope again.

· To stand when depression tells you to stay in bed, when anxiety says you’re not enough, and say: “Grace brought me here, and grace will keep me, and grace is enough.”

The good news is that there is more, much more! Look at verse 5.

“…and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit…” (v.5)

Ah, the Spirit. The One too many of us try to explain instead of experience.

This is the Spirit who whispers to us when all hell is breaking loose.

This is the Spirit who moves us in protest chants and in silent prayers.

This is the Spirit who pours—not sprinkles, drizzles, or cautiously trickles, but liberally pours the love of God deep into us until we can breathe again, smile again, even laugh again.

And this is why we don’t give up or stand down or ever bow down. Because love has roots that run deep. Love has a heartbeat in us. And even when suffering surrounds us, the darkness envelops us, even when the trauma returns, the Spirit keeps saying, “Hold on. The good old days may be gone but good new days are coming!”

The Spirit does not eliminate suffering. The Spirit takes suffering and makes suffering meaningful. The Spirit resurrects and transforms suffering. The Spirit assures us that suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces a hope that never disappoints us!

So, what do we do when the world is on fire?

When empires write decrees and send in the troops?

When systems still crucify the innocent?

When liberty and justice feels like a luxury only for the privileged?

When the whole world seems to be upside down, and we’re barely hanging on?

That’s when we remember the One, or the Three, who are holding on to us. The Father speaks peace. Christ gives grace. And the Spirit pours out love!

This is our Triune hope in the trenches, our Trinitarian anchor in a turbulent world. This is why we preach. This is why we worship in a pew, sing a hymn, and give an offering. This is why we pray and why we protest. This is why we forgive and feed, cry and console, resist and rise!

The Trinity is not an idea. It’s not just a concept. The Trinity is our inheritance, our identity, and our liberation. It’s how we can still stand when all is falling around us.

Still stand when policies crush the poor.

Still stand when truth is unfashionable.

Still stand when they gaslight and try to divide us.

Still stand when they deploy the military against us and threaten to kill us.

Still stand when love looks like resistance and hope costs everything.

The Trinity is not theoretical. It’s revolutionary!

The Father says, “Stand in this love.” The Son says, “Stand in this grace.” The Spirit says, “I’ve poured this love in you like wildfire—now go and light up your city, your state, your nation, and my world with my love. Go and stand and love until the torch of liberty and justice burns for all!”

So, let’s go and stand. Stand in courtrooms and stand in classrooms.

Stand in pulpits and in stand in peace vigils.

Stand in mourning and stand in movement.

Stand with our scars and with our sacred calling.

And when the world asks: Who gave you permission to stand like this? Who told you that you could be this courageous? How are you this strong, this confident? And why are you smiling like that?

That’s when you say, “I’ve been justified by faith!” “I’ve got peace from the Father!” “I’ve been given grace from the Son!” “And have been anointed with fire from the Holy Ghost!”

Now stand, and let your life be a sermon the world has been waiting for and cannot ignore.

Indivisible, We Rise

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Easter3 Comments

John 17:20-26

I was speaking with a colleague recently who shared that she was struggling to balance delivering sermons that are challenging with sermons that are comforting, sermons that are prophetic with sermons that are therapeutic. She said, “because the truth is that we can’t make peace in the world if we don’t know peace for ourselves.” She then added, “but it is so hard these days to preach soothing, comforting sermons when there is so much injustice everywhere.”

I said: “Yeah, I don’t know when I’ll be able to preach what I have heard some ministers refer to as a “sugar-stick sermon” —One of those sermons that just makes everyone feel good.

She asked: “Do you think your congregation may start to complain?”

I said, “Well if they do, saying they just want to come to church to get some serenity, I think…I’ll just have to…I don’t know…encourage them to check out the new Yoga classes we’re hosting, and perhaps give that a go.”

But then I added: “But since I am one of those lectionary preachers, If I’m presented a scripture text that enables me to preach a sermon that will just put everyone at ease, I suppose I’ll consider it. Because I sure could use a sermon like that myself!”

         So, earlier this week when I checked the lectionary and read Jesus’ words in John 17:

My prayer is not for them alone (not just for the twelve). I pray also for [all] those who will believe in me through their message that all of them may be one,

I thought, “maybe this is it!”

I may actually give my poor congregation a break this Sunday by saying something that soothes their souls, warms their hearts, and gives them permission to take it easy, relax a little, because Jesus is praying for us!  What a lovely thought! And what is he praying for? To go out and change the world? No, “That we may all be one,” that we may be brought to “complete unity.”

How wonderful! First Christian has been due a sugar-stick sermon for a while now, and this Sunday they may finally get one!

I don’t know about you, but living in this divisive time is exhausting. And ya’ll, I’m tired. Tired of the tension. Tired of the chaos. Tired of the fighting. Can we just take break?

Could it really be that Jesus is giving us prayerful permission to stop trying to change the world, and to just come together and get along, accept things as they are, you know, agree to disagree?

Wouldn’t that be nice?

Everybody, no matter your religious or political beliefs— just lovin’ life together, saying: “You do you, and I’ll do me.” “Live and let live!” “Tomato, tomahto.”

We can certainly do it.  We know how to do it. That’s what many of us do every time we get together with family, right?

 So, let’s go up on the mountain this afternoon, sing Kum ba yah, agree to disagree, and have some communion!

Now, before we get too excited, I suppose we ought to take a closer look at Jesus’ prayer.

Jesus is praying to God:

I have made You known to them, and will continue to make You known in order that the love You have for me may be in them and that I myself may be in them.

Jesus is praying for us to be in union with him, not with everyone on earth. Jesus is praying specifically for God’s love to be in us as it is in him. Jesus is praying for a divine moral unity, a unity grounded in holy relationship, divine truth, justice, and love.

Jesus is not praying for us to come together with others in order to keep the peace so we can be comfortable, while the fires of injustice rage! No, I believe Jesus is praying for what William Barber calls “a moral fusion.” He is asking God to fuse us together as one holy movement of divine truth, justice, liberation, and love.

Why?

Look at verse 21. “So that the world may believe…” that Jesus, the one who fed the hungry, defended the vulnerable, liberated the oppressed and challenged systems of injustice, was indeed sent by God.

The church is to be a witness for Jesus. But, when the church is divided, that witness is diluted.

When evangelicals wrap Jesus in the American flag but support policies that ignore the cries of the poor, the witness is diluted.

When pastors stay silent on racism, homophobia, transphobia, and xenophobia, just to keep the tithes rolling in, the witness is diluted.

When pulpits are more worried about being politically correct than prophetically faithful, more concerned about keeping their congregants happy with sugar-stick sermons than sermons that inspire them to do something to change the world, the witness is diluted.

Jesus is saying the moral authority of the church is tied to the moral unity of the people.

Now, if we are going to talk about unity in these divisive times, we need to name a prophetic truth. Fascism is not just a political ideology. It’s a spiritual disease. And its first move is always the same: Divide the people.

Fascism doesn’t need a majority. It just needs a divided public. It’s what William Barber has been preaching for 20 years.

  • It tells white workers to blame Black ones for their poverty.
  • It tells rural communities that immigrants are the enemy.
  • It tells churches to obsess over private piety while ignoring public suffering.
  • It stokes fear, fuels scapegoating, and spreads lies that demonize the very people Jesus dignified.

Because the architects of fascism know that a people united in truth is stronger than any regime on earth built on lies.

So, they don’t want unity. What they want is obedience. They’re not interested in justice, just in control. And they don’t ever want the church to ever come together, rise up as one, and start talking and acting like Jesus!

They need the church to bless their injustice with a bowed head and a blind eye.

But Jesus didn’t die for that. He died and rose to inspire a people to refuse to be divided by the lies of empire! He died and rose to inspire people to be united in their advocacy for the poor, the marginalized and the vulnerable—to be united in their efforts to tear down unjust systems that oppress and in organizing the broken into a holy movement for wholeness, while resisting the temptation to turn against one another.

So, let the church rise today, not with shallow calls for peace, but with a deep and defiant unity, a unity that refuses to trade justice for comfort. May pastors everywhere raise their voices understanding that silence is not harmony. It is complicity.

And the good news is every time we choose solidarity over silence, we strike a blow against fascism! Every time we refuse to be divided, we become more dangerous to those depending on our division.

This time in our history is not a political moment. It’s a moral emergency. And through his prayer, Jesus is telling us how to respond. We are to be one.

William Barber preaches the need for a “moral fusion coalition.” A revival of Jesus-rooted unity that brings together all good people to stand up and exclaim: “We will not be divided by race!” “We will not be divided by religion.” “We will not be divided by party!” And we will not be divided by fear!”

A moral fusion is people who love each other and their neighbors enough to fight side by side.

It’s communities coming together to say poverty is violence and silence is also violence.

A moral fusion is pastors linking arms with priests, rabbis, and imams, speaking in a unified voice proclaiming that hate has never made any nation great, and it never will.

It’s houses of worship becoming sanctuaries for the afflicted, not silos for the comfortable.

It’s labor organizers praying with farm workers.

It’s black grandmothers and young white activists marching together for voting rights.

It’s queer teens and disabled elders showing up at the same city council meeting to demand dignity.

It’s not about sameness. It’s about shared struggle.

A moral fusion is not about unity for unity’s sake, It’s about a moral commitment to the least of these. It’s when we stop asking, “What’s safe for me?” and start asking, “What’s faithful to God?” Because a moral fusion doesn’t blend us into blandness. It binds us in boldness!

That’s the unity Jesus prayed for. It’s the unity we are called to live into, and it’s the unity the empire cannot handle!

Jesus prayed that we might be one. And now it’s our turn to become the answer to that prayer. Not just in what we say we believe, but in what we do, how we act, and how we vote. And oh, how the church today needs to reexamine its actions. Because:

  • If your unity doesn’t do something to care for the poor, you need to know Jesus didn’t pray for it.
  • If your unity doesn’t protect the vulnerable, Jesus didn’t pray for it.
  • If your unity silences truth to keep the peace, Jesus didn’t pray for it.
  • If your unity is built on avoiding conflict instead of confronting injustice, Jesus didn’t pray for it.
  • If your unity demands that the oppressed stay quiet so the privileged can stay comfortable, Jesus didn’t pray for it.
  • If your unity won’t march, won’t speak, won’t sacrifice—then it’s not the unity Jesus was talking about.
  • And on this first Sunday of Pride, it must be said, that if your unity is about limiting the rights of LGBTQIA+ people and the reproductive rights of women, you need to know Jesus never prayed for it, never talked about it, or even once ever thought about it!

The unity Jesus prayed for doesn’t come cheap. It costs comfort. It costs silence. And it costs staying out of trouble.

But when we are indivisible with this unity, liberty and justice can truly come for all.

And the good news is: we don’t have to wait for it. Jesus already prayed it. Jesus already declared it. Jesus already called it down from heaven. And the same Spirit that raised Jesus from the grave is the same Spirit calling us today to rise up together!

To rise up with the poor.
To rise up with the forgotten.
To rise up with the queer, the trans, the disabled, the undocumented, the imprisoned.
To rise up not in mere charity, but in solidarity.

Jesus prayed that we may rise up and be as one.
That we may rise up and boldly love as Jesus loved, as God loves.

And here’s some more good news. It may not be what you’d call “sugar-stick news,” but it is hopeful news:

Fascism will not have the final word.

Fear will not have the final word.
And we will not let division have the final word.

Because love still speaks today.
Justice still speaks today.
And unity—moral, bold, dangerous, Spirit-filled, costly unity—still speaks.

Jesus prayed for it.

Now let’s go and be the answer to the prayer.
Go be one. Go be the witness. Go change the world. Amen.

If We Loved Like Jesus

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Easter, Sermons Year CLeave a comment

John 13:31-35

In the words of Stevie Wonder, I have “some serious news to pass on to everybody (which is really news to no one): “Love is in need of love today.”

Although some of Jesus’ last words, which are usually understood as one’s most important words, came in a commandment to love one another as he loved, many Christians have rejected those words, and today, love seems to have fallen out of favor.

One excuse I hear is: “Well, love might have worked back in Jesus’ time, but the world’s a much different place today. Love, especially loving like Jesus loved, well, that just doesn’t cut it anymore.”

Preaching love these days gets one called “a left-wing lunatic,” while stirring up hate gets one elected President. Being empathetic toward another gets one called “a sinner,” while being a bully gets one called “faithful,” or “councilman.” Deporting and separating families gets cheers, while asking for some common decency and humanity, gets one called “soft.”

If we truly love like Jesus loved—if we feed the hungry, if we care for the sick, if we give to the poor, if we stand up for the marginalized, if we speak out on behalf of the oppressed, if we welcome the stranger, and accept those who are cast away, we’re considered: “enemies of the state.”

These days, the peace and love crowd who lead with mercy, are out of date. And the mean and tough crowd, those who can make the hard decisions are trending. They can take away SNAP benefits without any apprehension, have people arrested without any due process and disappeared without any second thought. They say the country can afford to show our strength with a military parade, but not to show our compassion with healthcare for the elderly.

But love? Love is weak, they say. And these days, in these times, they say love is for losers. It may have worked back in the first century, when Jesus commanded it, but not here in the twenty-first, not anymore.

But the truth is, first century Palestine was not much different from today. Beneath the rule of the Roman Empire, ordinary people bore the weight of crushing taxes, land seizures, violent crackdowns, and the threat of crucifixion designed to silence dissent and maintain control. The elites—

local, imperial and religious— colluded to rob people of their wealth and dignity, leaving entire communities displaced and impoverished. It was a time when the underprivileged dare not imagine a world where justice was right for the oppressed and not a privilege of the powerful.

And it was into the thickness of that unrelenting, darkness, Jesus commanded his followers: “Love one another.”

Because Jesus knew that love is the light the darkness cannot overcome, and love is only power in the world strong enough to tear down empires and build God’s kin-dom.

So, when Jesus said, “Love one another as I have loved you,” he wasn’t being soft, and he sure as heaven wasn’t being weak.

He was talking about using the most powerful force in the world to change the world! He was talking about a love that was so threatening to the powers-that-be it would get you arrested and could easily get you nailed to a cross.

Jesus was talking about a love that confronts the empire, a love that calls out injustice, a love that always, insistently, and unapologetically, favors the oppressed and welcomes the people society tries to cast out. It’s a love that moves mountains, flips tables, and shakes up the status quo. It’s a love that demands justice for the poor, healthcare for the sick, and freedom for the oppressed.

Jesus said, “Love one another, as I have loved you,” because Jesus knew that love, the love he taught, the love he modeled and embodied, is the only power in the universe that can turn this world around.

Earlier this spring, Father John Dear reminded us that although the term “nonviolence” may sound passive and weak, there’s really nothing passive or weak about it. Nonviolence is “active love. It’s active resistance to evil.”

It’s important to remember that Jesus was anything but passive. He didn’t just sit back in his thoughts and prayers and wait for the world to change. He marched right into the temple and flipped over the tables of those who were hurting the poor saying: “This is not the kingdom of God! This is not how God’s people do things!”

He challenged the hypocrisy of the religious culture, those who claimed to love God but failed miserably in the things God requires, kindness, justice, and mercy, especially to those who were the most thirsty and hungry for it.

That’s how Jesus loved. And that’s how the world today needs us to love.

Dorothy Day, who devoted her entire life to loving like Jesus, once said: “Love, and ever more love, is the only solution to every problem that comes up in the world.” Love keeps coming. It keeps showing up. It keeps resisting and pushing back the darkness.

Dr. King described love’s power this way: “Power at its best is love implementing the demands of justice, and justice at its best is power correcting everything that stands against love.” Love stands up to racism, to sexism, to greed, to exploitation, to marginalization, and says: “Not on my watch!”

Gandhi once said: “Nonviolence is not a weapon of the weak. It is the weapon of the strong.” The strength of love is not how hard we hit or how loud we shout. It’s in how firmly we stand for love when hatred thunders and violence strikes. That’s true strength. And the good news is that the church that commits to loving like Jesus has that strength in abundance!

The problem is that an alternative Jesus devoid of love is now being used to fuel injustice. When I heard in seminary that when fascism comes to America, it’ll be wrapped in the flag and carrying a cross, I really didn’t think I’d ever see it.

Ten commandments hang on the walls, but there’s no compassion in the halls. They call it freedom, but it only works for some. Prayers and crosses are everywhere, but mercy? It’s nowhere to be found. They may say it is about God, but it’s all about control.

As Rev. Dr. William Barber likes to say, you can’t say God Bless America and think you’re being holy when you’re terrorizing immigrants, taking away food from the poor, and denying healthcare. That’s not holiness, says Barber, — “that’s pure hypocrisy dressed up in Sunday clothes!” It is sin. And if we stay silent while God’s name gets stamped on policies that crush the poor, deport the stranger, and hoard wealth for the few, then we are complicit in that sin. Jesus didn’t die for a faith that props up empires — he died for a love that tears them down.

And Barber reminds us that none of what we are seeing today is new. In the 1930s, fascists in Europe had a way of wrapping cruelty in religious national pride. They spread lies about minorities and built concentration camps and called it security. They locked up dissenters and called it patriotism. They cut off aid to the vulnerable and called it government efficiency. They blamed the Jews for the crucifixion of Jesus and called it eradiating anti-Christian bias.

And today’s mass deportations, voter suppression, and attacks on the press, free speech and universities — they are all echoes of those same dark chapters.

The good news is that love didn’t fail back then — because love does as love always does— Love showed up.

Love resists. It never quits. Love stays. It never retreats. Love fights. And love always wins.

Harriet Tubman went back, again and again. Because love doesn’t leave people behind. Chains broke. A system cracked. The lie of slavery collapsed. And love won.

In Selma, they beat ‘em with batons on that bridge. But they marched anyway. Love crossed into history. The Voting Rights Act was signed. And love won.

At Stonewall, they said love was illegal. They raided bars and broke lives. But the people rose. Years later, the Supreme Court saw the truth that love is love is love, and love got a seat at the altar. Love won.

In 2020 when everything shut down, love opened up. Mutual aid was demonstrated. Grocery runs happened. Meals on porches were shared. Text chains were created. Check-ins occurred. Love filled the gaps.

Not soft love. Not timid love. Resilient, rooted, revolutionary love—this is the love Jesus commanded when he said: “as I have loved you, love one another.”

It’s a love that doesn’t flinch. A love that never folds. A love that bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. A love that doesn’t give up. Not then. And not now.

If only the church had followed the simple commandment to love Jesus as he loved, it would’ve never been seduced by any politician shouting, “Make America Great Again!” Because the only greatness Jesus is interested in is the greatness of love—Love that welcomes the stranger, feeds the hungry, and protects the vulnerable—A love that would never chant “Send them back.”  But always says: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

So, no — love is not weak, and it is not soft— love is power. Love is resisting. Love is marching. Love is standing up and speaking out.

Love is nonviolence in action, and as Father Dear says, love is a “force more powerful than all the weapons of war.”

The good news is—we can see love is rising today!

We can see love standing unshakably during a silent peace vigil on Monument Square in the pouring rain. It can be seen getting pastors arrested for praying in public in the Rotunda to protect Medicaid. And when the Boss sits down at concert and speaks like the prophet Isaiah.

And we can see love persisting as a new Pope chooses to be named Leo, after the Pope who laid the foundations in 1891 for Catholic social teaching advocating for: the rights of workers, especially the poor; the divine dignity of all persons, the government’s role in social justice; and role of the church in protecting the most vulnerable.

A small act of kindness extended to a stranger, a church sheltering an asylum-seeker, federal judges pushing back to defend the Constitution—This is not weakness. This is the power that can change the world!

If we loved like Jesus, our immigration policies would be built on hospitality, not hostility.

If we loved like Jesus, we would welcome the stranger, not criminalize them.

If we loved like Jesus, unchristian Nationalism would bow to the kingdom of God, and white supremacy wrapped up in Christian language would never be tolerated.

And the church wouldn’t be known for judgment, but for joy. We’d be too busy setting extra places at the table to worry about who belongs and who doesn’t.

If we loved like Jesus, our love would be bigger than our borders. Our love would be stronger than our fears. And our love would be louder than all voices put together conning us to divide, exclude, and hoard.

So, let’s love like Jesus! Let’s make the kingdom of God visible, one act of radical love at a time!

As Rev. Barber says — “it’s not about left or right, it’s about right and wrong.” And love is always right!

So, let’s be known for love. Let love do the talking. Let love do the walking. Let love be the proof. Let love be the revolution! Amen.

Reviving the Heart of a Lady

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Easter, Sermons Year CLeave a comment

Acts 9:36-43

This morning’s epistle lesson is one of a handful of biblical stories where someone, other than Jesus, dies and is raised back to life.

In 1 Kings 17, we read the story of the prophet Elijah raising to life the dead son of a widow. Luke tells a similar story of Jesus also raising to life the dead son of a widow. Mark tells a story about Jesus raising the dead daughter of a synagogue official (Mark 5). And it is John who tells the infamous story of Lazarus (John 11).

In Acts 20, we read Luke’s fascinating story of Eutychus, the only person in the Bible who can blame his passing on a Sunday sermon that went too long!

Bless his heart, as Eutychus sat in a windowsill listening to Paul preach on and on and on and on, the poor fella nodded off to sleep and toppled out the window, falling three stories to his death!

To Paul’s credit, he stopped preaching and immediately ran downstairs. I suppose feeling somewhat responsible for his congregant’s tragic and untimely demise, Paul knelt down, propped the dead body up in his arms and said to the shocked eyewitnesses who were standing nearby: “He’s ok. He’s fine. Nothing to see here! Go on about your business.” Luke tells us Paul then went back upstairs and had communion, while Eutychus, having had his fill of preaching for the day, and maybe for the rest of his life, skipped the rest of the service and went away alive and well (Acts 20).

Now, who here today can believe that you could literally be bored to death by a sermon?

I know. All of you can.

But who here believes that if I so happened to bore one of you to death with one of my sermons, that I possess the power run down the aisle, prop up your lifeless body in my arms and bring you back to life?

No one believes that.

But we do have the new defibrillator now hanging up right outside the narthex ready to go. So, I guess you never know!

However, believing that one has the power to literally raise the dead back to life is no laughing matter. For example, no one would be laughing if someone’s heart did stop during the service, and I called off the one rushing the defibrillator down the aisle, exclaiming: “There’s no need here for science! Stand back! I got this!”

A few years ago, the nation watched in horror as members of a Pentecostal Church in Redding, California, inspired by the raising-the-dead stories in the Bible, prayed over the body of a 2-year-old little girl for five days, attempting to bring her back to life.

So, how should these stories be interpreted? Are they to be taken literally, or should we look for some deeper meaning, some symbolic meaning that is more true, more real, and more prophetic, than any possible literal understanding.

What are we to make of the story of Tabitha, the only woman referred to as a disciple in the in the New Testament, who died but was raised back to life by Peter?

We are told that she lived a life devoted to good works and acts of charity, but then, one day, she became ill and died. Those who had been caring for her washed her body and laid her in a room upstairs. She must have been an important figure in the life of the early church as the apostle Peter was immediately summoned to come to the home to pay his respects. As soon as Peter arrived, he was taken upstairs to the room where the body of Tabitha was lying in wake.

Among those at the visitation were (and I quote) “all the widows” of Joppa. They stood beside Peter weeping, showing off the items of clothing that Tabitha had made for them.

Think about that. “All the widows.” What an impact Tabitha had made to those who were among the most marginalized and disadvantaged in society, those who had been discounted— victims of injustice by being excluded from inheritance laws. They all stood around the body grieving, as their ally, their advocate, and their champion, was no more.

It’s then that Peter clears the room. He prays, and turns to the body and says, “Tabitha, get up.” Tabitha opens her eyes, and seeing Peter, she sits straight up.

What in the world can this mean?

The most obvious meaning to me is that this world needs more Tabathas. The world needs more Tabithas who are committed to good works, to acts of charity, and to defending and caring for the marginalized and the most vulnerable among us.

Heaven doesn’t need another angel, as people like to say at funeral visitations. We need more angels here on earth, specifically angels like Tabitha.

Earlier this week, I overheard a conversation between a local pastor and another man that went like this:

“I hope to retire at the end of the year,” said the pastor, “but I am worried that it may take a long time to find my successor, as there’s not many men studying for the ministry these days.”

The other man responded: “Well, in the interim, do you have some leaders in your congregation who might step up to help lead the church?”

The pastor replied: “We do have couple of young, godly men in the church who I am currently mentoring.” Then he said, “And I have this woman. She’s incredible, a hard worker, very devout and dependable.”

He then added: “If she were a man, I’d want to have her cloned.”

I should have spoken up.  But instead, I just quietly wondered if this preacher had ever heard the story of the church leader named Tabitha.

And then this wave of sadness came over me, as I was reminded of the role the church currently plays in supporting the subjugation of women in our society and is one of the main reasons I may not live to see a female elected President.

Tell me, when you first heard that “nine-year old baby girls need to be happy with two dolls this Christmas,” did you notice that there was no mention of anything boys would need to sacrifice?

Because sacrificing is for the women—those who should forgo a college education and a career so they can stay home where they belong and raise a family.

Today, we hear those in power mocking and discounting women who do not have biological children. The suggestion has even been made that the votes of women who do not have children should count less than women who have children.

Every day, it seems as if we encounter some form of hyper-masculinity that has historically associated with fascism.

In 1930’s Germany, as incentive to keep women in their place, and to keep immigrants in the minority, Adolf Hitler introduced the “Cross of Honor of the German Mother,” a decorative medal that honored “children-rich” mothers of German heritage, excluding Jewish Germans.

The medals came in three classes: the Bronze Cross for mothers of four or five children; the Silver Cross for mothers with six or seven children; and the Gold Cross for mothers with eight or more children.

Six years after Hitler’s medal program was introduced, Soviet dictator Joseph Stalin followed suit with the “Order of Maternal Glory,” also offering three tiers: “Third Class” for mothers of seven children; “Second Class” for mothers of eight children; and “First Class” for mothers of nine children.

Soviet women raising 10 or more children were given the title “Mother Heroine” up until the fall of the USSR in 1991.

In 2022, the Mother Heroine award was revived, adding a payment of 1 million rubles, which is equivalent to more than $12,000.

And now, the White House is considering implementing similar incentives, including payments of $5,000 in cash and a “National Medal of Motherhood” to moms in the U.S. who have six or more children.[i]

I believe it’s important to point out today that Tabitha is never described as a mother. We are only told that she was a faithful disciple, devoted to good works and acts of charity, especially among those who were marginalized and discounted by society.

Perhaps what this country needs is a “National Medal of Justice Doers!” Because what this country needs are more people like Tabitha. It needs more allies, advocates, and champions for the poor, the discounted, and the marginalized.

But what if Tabitha’s story means even more?

What if Tabitha is a larger symbol for our deepest and best moral value of caring for the least of these? And what if Peter in this story, the one who revives this value, the one considered by Catholics to be the first Pope, is a symbol for the church?

What if Tabitha is a symbol of kindness, compassion, mercy, and empathy? A symbol of diversity, equity, and inclusion? A symbol of welcome and belonging? A symbol liberty and justice for all, especially for those discounted and marginalized.

What if Tabitha is a large feminine symbol holding up a light for all those who are left out and left behind: the tired; the poor; the huddled masses yearning to breathe free; the wretched refuse, those considered despicable, regarded as garbage; the homeless; the tempest tossed?

Then, like the Tabitha in Luke’s story, we know today that she has fallen ill, gravely ill. You might say she has a heart problem, is heart sick, or suffering a heart attack.

Her heart has been broken by those who believe character no longer counts.

Her heart has been hardened by sexism, racism, fear, and greed.

Her heart has been jolted out of rhythm by chaos and confusion.

Her arteries have been clogged by the evil forces, the principalities, the powers, and the world rulers of this present darkness.

Hate has put her heart in cardiac arrest.

So, what do we do when the heart of liberty-and-justice-for-all stops beating?

Well, that’s when we summon Peter, we summon the church, we summon all disciples who are committed to the way of love Jesus taught. That’s when we summon all people who have good hearts, to be, in the words of Rev Dr. William Barber, “the moral defibrillators of our time” to shock what is the very heart of our nation! To shock what is the heart of this nation, liberty and justice for all, with the power of love and mercy, especially for the poor, the marginalized and the most vulnerable.[ii]

So, the question that Tabitha’s story beg of us today is this: Do you have a heart? Is there a heart in this congregation?

Do you have a heart for poor people? Do you have a heart for transgendered people? Do you have a heart for immigrants?

Do you have a heart for women? Do you have a heart for mothers who have been deported by ICE and separated from their families? Do you have a heart for the value, the worth, and the dignity of all women, regardless of whether they choose to have children?

Then you have been summoned today. You have been called to be “the moral defibrillators of our time” to shock our city with love, to revive the pulse of our state with mercy, and to raise back to life the very heart of our nation.

[i] https://people.com/trump-team-ponders-incentives-motherhood-birthrate-11719580

[ii] Address to the DNC by Rev. Dr. William Barber, 2016

A Hundred Fifty-Three

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Easter, Sermons Year C2 Comments

John 21:1-11

Happy Star Wars Day! May the fourth be with you!

You may laugh, but there are churches that are observing this day, May the 4th, as Star Wars Sunday, focusing on the spiritual struggle between darkness and light, drawing parallels between “the Force” and the Christian concept of God.

Numbers, like the 4th when it occurs in May, have always been significant in the life of the church, as numbers always seem to be significant in the Holy Scriptures.

The number 40 is symbolic of testing, trials, and periods of preparation, as we remember the story of Noah and the rain that fell for 40 days and 40 nights, and of Moses and the Israelites’ 40-year journey out of slavery into the Promised Land, and of Jesus’ 40-day fast in the wilderness.

The 144,000 protected from judgment we read about in the book of Revelation is based on the number 12, a symbol for wholeness based on the 12 tribes of Israel and the 12 disciples. The number 7 in Revelation symbolizes divinity, whereas the number 6, particularly 666, symbolizes evil.

So, when we read the story of the miraculous catch of fish in this post-Easter story, the number 153 leaps off the page!

Verse 11 reads: “So, Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, a hundred fifty-three of them, and though there were so many, the net was not torn.”

Such an odd number. Such an exact number. Why not just say 150 fish? Or tell a good fishing story by exaggerating it, rounding it on up to 200?

But John says the net contained exactly a hundred fifty-three fish. There are so many possibilities with and no shortage of interpretations.

Some have interpreted 153 fish to mean: “It’s just a lot of fish.”[i] And that moments of such abundance say something about living in a world where the good news of Easter is a reality, as grief is transformed into action, scarcity is transformed into abundance, and despair becomes hope we discover that what seems like the end is only the beginning!

It means living in a world, that when it comes to the love that Jesus taught, modeled, and embodied, we can never give in, give out, or give up, because we know that such love always wins. Such love never ends. Not even death can stop it. It means never retreating in despair believing that things in the world cannot get better.

But something tells me that the number 153 means even more. If it’s just about “a lot of fish,” why didn’t John simply write, “they caught so many fish the nets started to break, and the boats began to sink,” as we’ve heard in another story (Luke 5)? Why does John specifically record the number 153?

Some scholars believe the number symbolizes the truth  that Jesus did not come to abolish Jewish law or the Torah. They point out that the Torah, the first five books of the Bible, was divided into portions to be read in worship. Like the Lectionary that I use each week to preach, the portions were part of a three year-cycle, and the three-year Torah cycle used in Palestine around the First Century had, you guessed it, 153 portions.

Now, if you think that is interesting, listen to this.

St. Augustine pointed out that the number 153 is the triangular of 17. That means that if you add all the numbers decreasing from 17, you get 153. That is to say: 17 + 16 + 15 + 14 +13 + 12 + 11… all the way down to +1 = 153.

So 153, according to Augustine, is all about the number 17, which Augustine believed was a sign of the union of Judaism and Christianity as we have 10 commandments in the Old Testament and 7 Gifts of the Spirit in the New Testament.

How about that? But wait, there’s more.

In the book of Acts, we read that 17 nations were present for Pentecost. So, Peter’s catch of 153 fish at the end of John’s gospel might mean something like the end of Matthew’s gospel when Jesus calls us to make disciples of all nations.

It was St. Jerome who pointed out that during the time John tells this story that there were only 153 species of fish in all the world. Hence, 153 signifies the universal hope that every person of every class and time would be saved through the Gospel.

St. Gregory the Great believed 10 and 7 are perfect numbers, added together make 17. This, times 3, factoring in the Trinity, makes 51. This, times 3 again, makes 153.

St. Augustine also notes that there were 7 disciples in the boat (Peter, Thomas, Nathanael, James and John, and two other disciples), who had all been filled with the 7 gifts of the Holy Spirit. 7 times 7 equals 49. 49 plus 1 (that’s Jesus) makes the perfection of 50. And 50 x 3 for the Trinity gives you 150 plus another 3 for the Trinity gives you 153.

St. Cyril breaks 153 into 100 (the great number of gentiles to be saved), plus 50 (the smaller number of Jews to be saved), plus 3 (the Trinity who saves all).

Others have pointed out that 100 (representing the number of married faithful in the Church), plus 50 (the faithful who commit themselves later in life to celibacy either living as widows or living with their spouse in a brother-sister relationship), plus 3 (the precious few who commit their whole lives to celibacy as virgins) equals 153.[ii]

I hope you are writing all this down.

Now, do you want to know what I believe is the significance of 153?

Allow me to first preface my opinion by reminding you that I have a Doctorate in Ministry and have been a student of scripture for half a century, if you count my Sunday School classes as a child. Plus, I grew up on the Outer Banks of North Carolina; thus, I know a thing or two about fishing.

Here it is. You will really want to write this down. For it is going to blow your mind and probably change your life.

Here it is. Drum roll please. People who go fishing like to count their fish.

That’s it. People who fish count their fish. Now, it may mean a little more than that, but not much more.

I also believe this Easter story has something to do about people, as the story is very similar to other fishing stories when Jesus tells the disciple anglers that they were going to go from catching fish to catching people (Mark 1 and Matthew 4).

Thus, a hundred fifty-three means that people, like fish, are to be counted. Now, compared to the hyper-symbolic, mathematical theories of the saints, that may sound like a hollow interpretation; however, when we consider the number of people who are discounted and marginalized in our world today, this simple interpretation is nothing less than prophetic.

So, what this Easter story says to me is that this movement we call discipleship where we can be confident love will win and justice will prevail, is a movement that prophetically proclaims that every person counts.

A hundred fifty-three is particularly prophetic for Americans as the United States has always had a problem counting certain people, as some in this nation, including those in power today, have always had a problem with equality. There have always been those who want to put a tear in the net, so all will not be counted.

Ever since the Constitution’s original framework, when enslaved people of color were counted as three-fifths of a person, there have been people in this country who have sought to undermine equality, suppress the vote, and discount entire groups of people.

And today, those people are in power, intentionally tearing the net by rolling back all the progress made for equality and civil rights in the 20th century, calling desegregation “a historic wrong,”[iii] and going after any organization, business or university that seeks to count everyone with programs focused on diversity, equity, and inclusion. And now, democracy hangs in the balance.

Perhaps we should have seen the end to democracy coming —when every ten years there’s an argument in our country about who should be counted and who should not be counted in the census, as counting every person is fundamental to democracy, based on the principle that each person counts and deserves representation.

So, I believe 153 is a profoundly prophetic number for America today. A hundred fifty-three affirms democracy and the principle that all people are created equally. A hundred fifty-three means there is no person who does not count.

A hundred fifty-three affirms our annual Holocaust Remembrance Service, as a hundred fifty-three means that six million Jewish people count. And they still count, despite those today who are seeking to re-write history or “move on from past guilt.”[iv]

And a hundred fifty-three also means that 2.3 million people in Gaza count, 2.3 million Palestinians who are starving to death today because of the Israeli and US-backed ban of food and humanitarian aid.[v]

One of the best things about living in New Orleans was when I had the opportunity to officiate a funeral where we marched in the cemetery behind a jazz band singing: “Oh when the saints go marching in, when the saints go marching in, oh Lord, I want to be in thatnumber when the saints go marching in!”

Oh Lord, how people just want to be counted.

People of color who cry for their lives to matter just want to be counted.

Trans men and women asking not to be called by their dead name just want to be counted.

Pregnant women who desire to have a choice in their healthcare, just want to be counted.

Disabled people requesting fairness and equal opportunity, just want to be counted.

Immigrants, refugees, and Asylum-seekers in the pursuit of happiness, just want to be counted.

People who are being snatched off our streets and disappeared, need to be counted.

Books banned; history erased; votes suppressed; due process denied; free speech stifled; basic rights deprived; Medicaid, SNAP, Head Start, low-income energy assistance, and other programs cut—it’s all about people who must be counted!

Think about who you know today—at work or at school, in your neighborhood or in your family—who may feel like they are of no count. And think about what actions you could take, or this week, or next, to let know that they do count—to you, to this church, and to God—and maybe, one day, to the nation.

“Simon Peter…hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, a hundred fifty-three of them, and though there were so many, the net was not torn.”

The net was not torn. All were counted. Amen.

[i] https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/resurrection-is-abundance

[ii] https://parish.rcdow.org.uk/harefield/wp-content/uploads/sites/148/2022/10/The-mystery-of-the-153-fish-in-the-Gospel-of-John.pdf

[iii] https://wpde.com/news/nation-world/doj-department-of-justice-officially-ends-desegregation-order-at-louisiana-school-plaquemines-parish-after-nearly-50-years-court-system-integrated-racial-segregation-south#

[iv] https://www.npr.org/2025/01/27/nx-s1-5276084/elon-musk-german-far-right-afd-holocaust

[v] https://www.pbs.org/newshour/world/palestinians-struggle-to-feed-their-families-as-israel-blocks-gaza-aid-for-nearly-60-days

Don’t Be An Absent Thomas

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn EasterLeave a comment

John 20:19-31

It can be difficult to relate to the ancient characters of scriptures. They walked this earth so long ago, that we sometimes wonder if we share anything in common.

However, most of us can easily relate to the disciples who were cowering behind locked doors on that first Easter evening. It’s been 2,000 years, but today, we can feel their anxiety, we know their grief.

Jesus had been rejected by the religious and political culture. People had chosen the way of a violent insurrectionist, and condemned the way of nonviolent, universal, unconditional love for all people.

Disappointment, disillusionment, and despair overwhelmed the disciples, as it seemed that love was defeated and hope was lost.

We can imagine their regret and guilt, as we wonder what we might have done differently. And we can sense their fear, as we wonder today if there is any path forward, if the world can be any better.

The disciples did the only thing that they knew to do. They gathered together.

You might say, they went to church, as the Greek word for church, ecclesia, literally means a gathering or an assembly.

That’s all it means— not an institution; not an establishment; not even an organization. Just a gathering, an assembly. It means community.

When all seemed to be falling apart around them, they gathered together in community.

And it was while they were together, in community, that something miraculous happened, that something that we call Easter. Somehow, someway, the Risen Christ showed up and a peace beyond all understanding came over them.

Together, in community, they received the good news that love cannot be defeated, that love never ends. When all seems to be lost, love remains. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love always wins.

And the anxiety and fear of the disciples were suddenly transformed into rejoicing, as a path forward began to emerge. They suddenly felt empowered and sent into the world to share hope with all who are despairing, speaking the truth to the powers of darkness, standing up for mercy, defending the defenseless, and to breaking down every wall that divides and every barrier that excludes.

The story of the way the disciples first encounter Easter this speaks volumes about the power of community— Community is where we experience love and grace. Community is how we experience hope and peace. Community is where fear is transformed into rejoicing. Community is when the Risen Christ shows up and Easter happens. Community is how love wins, death is defeated, and light overcomes the darkness.

This is the power of church. This is why church is needed today. This is why it is good to join a church, to be a church together.

However, in the middle the rejoicing, we get our first inkling that something is wrong. It is here we read that sometimes dreaded conjunction: “but.”

“But Thomas, who was one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came.”  All of the disciples were gathered together in community, and all experienced the hope of Easter—all of them, except Thomas.

We can only guess where he was— Somewhere out on his own; someplace withdrawn; somewhere isolated; in some private sanctuary. We just know he was not where he should have been. He was not in church. Thomas was absent from community.

Later, when the disciples find Thomas and tell him that they had experienced the Risen Lord, Thomas responds with those infamous words that has given him the nickname, “Doubting Thomas.” “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in his side, I will not believe.”

We like to call him “Doubting Thomas,” because, all of us, if we are honest, have our doubts. And we like to be able to relate to these disciples, even if it is 2,000 years later. However, when you think about it, that is really an unfair designation, because Thomas is really no different from the other disciples. Thomas is not asking for anything more than the other disciples received on that first Easter.

The only thing that makes Thomas different from the others is that Thomas had skipped church. Thomas was not present in community. He’s not so much a “doubting Thomas” as he is an “absent Thomas.” All the other disciples had gathered together in community. The Risen Christ showed up. And absent Thomas missed it all!

No, we really don’t know why Thomas was absent on that Sunday. But those of us who have been a part of the church could certainly guess, couldn’t we?

For how many times have we been tempted to stay home on Sunday mornings. How often have we thought to ourselves: “You know, I don’t need those people down at the church! After all, there are people there who have hurt my feelings. There are some people there who get on my nerves. I am better off sitting my back porch, taking a walk in a park, or watching the sun rise all by myself..”

Maybe Thomas was just tired of people. As United Methodist Bishop William Willimon once said, “Being a pastor would be a great profession, if it weren’t for the people.”

Maybe he was tired of all the self-absorbed arguments about who was going to be seated where in the Kingdom of Heaven. Maybe he was simply sick of being around people who were constantly disappointing Jesus—people who could never follow through with their commitments, keep their promises, fulfill their obligations. Maybe he was tired of all of the passive aggressiveness, resentment, and jealousy.

Maybe he had just given up on the hope that the world could be a better place. Maybe he had acquiesced to the belief that love can never and will never win, that the moral arc of the universe actually does not bend towards justice.

So, when Sunday came around, Thomas stayed home. Thomas decided that he’d be better off on his back porch with a cup of coffee. And who could blame him?

But here’s the problem.

In staying home on Sunday, in avoiding community, in missing church, Thomas missed the miraculous transforming presence of the risen Christ.

And here’s the thing. We read in verse 26 that Thomas had to wait “a week later” to experience Easter.

Think about that. A whole week later. Thomas, the only disciple who missed seeing Jesus, the only one who missed the transforming power of Easter, the only one not to experience love winning, did not receive a personal, private visit from Jesus on Monday morning. He didn’t get a phone call on Tuesday, or a card in the mail from Jesus on Wednesday letting him know he was missed. There was no text message on Thursday, no email on Friday and no Facebook message or Instagram on Saturday.

Thomas had to wait an entire week—until when? When the disciples were again gathered together in community.

Listen again to verse 26. “A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them.” I bet he was!

And just like the week before with the other disciples, Jesus gives Thomas what he needs to experience the fullness of his transforming presence. Jesus says to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt, but believe.” And this time, not so much because Thomas had stopped questioning, stopped doubting, but because Thomas was present, because he was in community, the risen Lord gave Thomas what he needed to exclaim: “My Lord and my God.”

I believe one of the biggest problems with the church today is not doubt, but a belief that love can win, justice can come, Easter can happen, faith can be lived, without community, without ecclesia, without gathering.

Faith today has been reduced to a private, personal transaction between the individual and God. The love-wining, community-organizing, campaign-building, forward-marching, culture-challenging, justice-doing movement of Jesus that has the power transform the world and all its troubles…has been reduced to an individual’s personal ticket to leave this world and its troubles behind.

Our faith has become more about meditating to be in a personal relationship with Jesus and less about collaborating to be on a public mission led by Jesus. It has become more about worshiping Jesus in the heart and less about following the way of Jesus in the world.

It was Jesus who defined our faith by saying:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free…” (Luke 4:18).

As disciples, this is our mission. And there’s is just no we can accomplish this mission alone, by ourselves, watching the sunrise or walking our dog in the park. It is talks community, collaboration and cooperation.

Because the gospel of Jesus is not good news to the individual. It is good news to the poor.

The gospel of Jesus is not about the release of an individual’s soul. It is about speaking out to release all who are held captive—physically, systemically, and spiritually.

The gospel of Jesus is not about an individual closing their eyes in thoughts and prayers to the troubles of this world. It is about possessing eyes that are wide-open to the world’s problems and having the power to come together to do something about it.

The gospel of Jesus is not about individual freedom. It is about coming together, side by side, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, leaning on one another and on God, while working for the liberty and justice of all.

Our faith in the risen Christ is personal, but it is never private. It is only by coming together as a community that we become who we were created to be as human beings and called to be as disciples of Christ. It is through our coming together, that we experience the fullness of the presence of the risen Lord and are given the power transform the world.

The church is far from perfect. There can be accusations, denials, and desertion. There’s apathy, jealousy, resentment, and failure. There’s cowardice, compromise, manipulation, and selfishness. This is the way it has always been, even with the first group of disciples.

However, when we come together in the name of Christ, something miraculous happens that we call Easter. Despite all our imperfections, the risen Christ shows up. And we are given what we need to believe, to hope, to move forward, to be justice-doers, and peacemakers. In community, we are transformed in love, so we can transform the world with love. Amen.

I Have Seen the Lord!

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Easter, Sermons Year CLeave a comment

John 20:1-18 NRSV

It’s Easter, and all over the world preachers are feeling the pressure to preach the better-than-the-average sermon. All week they’ve been burdened to come up with something insightful, something profound, to say about this story of stories, preferably something their congregations have never heard before. Oh, the pressure!

Each week for a sermon, I write, on average, 1,800 words. This is the number of words that I, with my seasoned homiletical and ecclesial acuity, have deemed theologically and linguistically necessary to bequeath the congregation an appropriate word from the Lord. And on the Sundays I need to be better than average, like Easter, I am always tempted to go a little longer, like upward to 2,000 words or more.

Now, my wife Lori believes that I should be able to write a sermon, and she’d prefer I write a sermon, even for Easter, with much fewer words. But Lori hasn’t been to seminary, I tell myself.

That’s why, by the way, every now and again, I throw in seminary words like “ecclesial” and smart-sounding words like “bequeath”—to convince the congregation, and myself, that I know what I’m doing up here. And we preachers especially like to use big words on Easter!

However, as I prepared for today’s sermon, I came to realize that Lori may be right.  In fact, esteemed professor of homiletics Karoline Lewis, points out that the best Easter sermon ever delivered, and the sermon we desperately need to hear again today, was nowhere close to 1,800 words. It contained 5. Lewis says that the best Easter sermon ever delivered was proclaimed by Mary Magdalene on that first Easter morning: “I have seen the Lord!”[i]

That’s it. There’s your Easter sermon. “I have seen the Lord!” Now, let’s sing a hymn, have communion, and pass the peace!

Now, because I don’t want to be accused of being lazy on Easter, I will attempt to say a little more. But I tend agree with Rev. Lewis that, too often, our preaching, especially on Easter, is just “too much –too much explanation, too much justification, too much rationalization.” She says our preaching is too much expository and not enough experiential. It’s too much illustrational and not enough incarnational. She argues preaching needs to be less performance and more personal, more down-to-earth, more authentic.

That struck a chord with me this week, as I recently heard local colleague make the shocking assertion, that on some days, he has this sinking feeling that God is not in Lynchburg.

Now, that’s a dark statement coming from anyone, but coming from a pastor in this town, it’s especially chilling. Almost as chilling as it is ironic with the vast number of churches in our city.

Last year, one of my guilty pleasures in life was binging the dark TV drama series called “Preacher.” Lori didn’t care for it. I loved it. It’s a story based on a comic book hero, a Texas Preacher, who’s on a mission in Louisiana searching for God who’s gone missing. God just got tired of being God one day, vacated the throne, got on motorcycle, and headed to New Orleans to listen to some good jazz and have a good time. It’s a very dark and rather bloody story about the chaos that ensues when God forsakes and abandons the world. All hell literally breaks loose as vampires, fallen angels, demons, and the devil himself wreak havoc upon the earth.

And my colleague says this is what it can sometimes feel like serving as a pastor in Lynchburg, Virginia. He says he sometimes wants to cry out like Jesus from the cross, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken us?”

Maybe we have had days when we have wanted to do the same.

The lack of affordable housing, the number of people living with food insecurity, the plans to cut spending on public schools and social services, the ugliness on the city council—it can all seem like God has left the city limits.

Just last week, an owner of a new restaurant told me that he recently served dinner to a member of the city council who had the hateful audacity to advise him to refuse service to members of the LGBTQ community.

And then we have the number of people who claim to be Christians or even “Champions for Christ” who support ways that the exact opposite of the way of the inclusive, universal, unconditional love that Jesus taught, modeled, and embodied.

Looking at some parts of our city, we can easily identify with Jesus when he lamented what seemed like the absence of God in Jerusalem, crying: “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it!”

And you don’t even need to be religious to believe that God may have even fled the country—a nation where people can be snatched from their homes and disappeared to a gulag in El Salvador without any recourse. Bishop William Barber notes: “Like the lynching trees of the South and the crosses of Rome, these public acts of brutality are designed to inspire fear that compels the masses to comply. But we cannot comply.”[ii]

This is why on this Easter Sunday, we need to hear the personal, authentic, first-person, five-word sermon of Mary Magdalene: “I have seen the Lord!” We need a first-hand witness of the resurrection, not a third-person account, confession, or creed.

In these dark, seemingly God-forsaken days, we don’t need to hear the stale and old: “He was crucified, dead, and buried; the third day he rose from the dead…” or “Christ the Lord is risen; he is risen indeed.” That’s nice, that’s good, but these days, we need more.

We need a first-person, eye-witness testimony. We need to hear of a new and fresh encounter. We need somebody to stand up before us today and exclaim: “I have seen the Lord!”

As we demonstrated during our Maundy Thursday service, the good news is that we can easily point out all the places in Lynchburg where we have seen the Lord, where there is resurrection in the midst of ruin; the light of new life in the shadows of death; love, when all that seems visible is hate. There’s much goodness, generosity and compassion in the midst of all the meanness, selfishness and cruelty: Parkview Mission, Interfaith Outreach, Meals on Wheels, The Free Clinic…It would take much more 1,800 words to name all of the non-profits and organizations that are being the hands and feet of the Lord in this town.

 But proclaiming, “I have seen the Lord,” means even more than that.

“I have seen the Lord” means personally bearing witness to the resurrection. It means being a first-person, eyewitness, living testimony of Easter.

In the hateful darkness of a violent world that has rejected the way of Jesus and would crucify him all over again if it got the chance, “I have seen the Lord” means demonstrating that there is another way of being in the world— a loving, justice-seeking, non-violent way that embodies all that is life-giving. It means living and giving and loving and serving in such a way, that when others see you, watch you, listen to you, they say: “Wait one second. Did I just see the Lord?”

“I have seen the Lord” insists that the ways of love will always win over the ways of hate.

“I have seen the Lord” affirms that the way of peace will always overcome the way of violence.

“I have seen the Lord” confirms that the truth of kindness, mercy and decency will always be louder than the con of fear, confusion, and chaos.

“I have seen the Lord” asserts that the voices of compassion will always be heard over the clamor of cruelty and retaliation.”

“I have seen the Lord” is what Gandhi proclaimed when he shared a vision of a world where all of creation and every living creature is revered and respected, thriving in peace and harmony, when all most can see is ecological devastation, violence, war, oppression, injustice, colonialism, and imperialism.

“I have seen the Lord” were the exact words of Martin Luther King Jr. when he preached on the day before his assassination: “I have seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I’m happy tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”

“I have seen the Lord” is a proclamation that neither death by starvation in India, nor death by a bullet in Memphis, nor death on a cross in Jerusalem, can prevent love from winning and justice from coming.

Mary’s proclamation “I have seen the Lord” proclaims not only that a single stone was rolled away 2,000 years ago, but countless stones are still being rolled away today, all the stones that are used to prevent new life from rising: racist stones blocking paths to citizenship; bigoted stones blocking the doors of closets; corrupt stones blocking the power of free speech and due process; greedy stones blocking care for the environment; deceptive stones blocking the truth of science and history; and violent stones blocking any possibility of new life, justice, and peace.

“I have seen the Lord” is the justice those are demanding on the behalf of Abrego Garcia and every person deported unjustly. It’s the defiance of Harvard University, and the cry of all protesting the rise of fascism.

“I have seen the Lord,” when we speak it into our own lives, become words that have the power to roll back all the stones that confine and constrain the possibility that liberty and justice, dignity and respect can be for all people.

But “I have seen the Lord” is so counter-cultural, so counter-intuitive, often defying what we see with our own eyes, that it can be difficult to speak it. Especially to speak it personally, authentically in the first-person, to speak it with faith and conviction. It’s much easier to walk out of this service this morning and recite a third-person creed, “Christ the Lord is risen. He is risen indeed” than it is to honestly say in the first-person, “I have seen the Lord!”

Perhaps, like anything difficult, we need to practice it, and practice it daily.

So, in what places do you need practice it today? In front of what tomb do you need proclaim resurrection today?

What stone in your life needs to be removed today so you can be free?

What’s preventing you today from experiencing the joy of new life? What is blocking you today from enjoying peace, possessing hope, and knowing love?

On this Easter morning, when we walk out of this church building, where’s the first place we need to go to proclaim: “I have seen the Lord!”

Who do we know that may be unable to say it today, but needs to hear it, because they have been hiding in the tombs too long?

Today, we thank God for Mary Magdalene, the preacher of the best Easter sermon ever proclaimed, the good news we all need to hear today: “I have seen the Lord!”

[i] Sermon inspired by the thoughts of Rev. Dr. Karoline Lewis shared in an article entitled: True Resurrection, March 20, 2016

[ii] From The Power of a Moral Opposition: A Holy Saturday Reflection, April 19, 2025.

Palm Sunday Prayer

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Pastoral Prayers2 Comments

God of Love and Justice,

As we begin this Holy Week, some of us can remember a more innocent time when we possessed a more naïve understanding of the world.

Our thoughts were as innocent as the children who waved palm branches on this day.

We once listened to scripture retell the events of this week and wondered how on earth can the actions and attitudes of people change so dramatically in a just few days.

How can people enthusiastically choose to follow a nonviolent savior riding a donkey on Sunday, and in the same week, choose a violent insurrectionist to be their savior instead. How can people shout “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” on Sunday, and days later, shout “Crucify him.”

But living in this current culture, we no longer wonder.

For we live in a nation where people claim to follow the way of Jesus on Sunday, but during the week, willfully choose to live a way that is the exact opposite.

Instead of blessing the poor, they curse the poor.

Instead of providing comfort to those who are mourning for their lives to matter, they tell them that their lives matter too.

The meek are oppressed; not blessed.

Those who hunger and thirst for justice are scapegoated; not filled.

The merciful are ridiculed.

The pure in heart are bullied.

The peacemakers are labeled “weak” and “stupid.”

And those who seek to follow the inclusive, unconditional, universal way of love that Jesus taught are persecuted for doing so by those who claim Jesus to be their Savior.

The singers of “Hosanna” deny food to the hungry. The wavers of palm branches deny healthcare to the sick. The triumphant deny children an equitable education. Workers are denied a living wage. The imprisoned are denied due process. Immigrants are tormented. Women are subjugated. Strangers are feared and sent away.

Truth and honesty are rejected in favor of misinformation and lies.

Nationalism is preferred over discipleship.

Greed is favored over generosity.

Retribution is supported over forgiveness.

Profit is chosen over the planet.

Guns are valued over children.

Kindness is mocked.

Equality is despised.

Diversity, equity, and inclusion are banned.

Empathy is called a sin.

So, Lord, on this Palm Sunday we pray for the strength to resist, for the courage to dissent, and for the resilience to defy the anti-Christ spirit that seems to have a hold on our world.

Be with us, O God, through the betrayal, the trial, the denials, the mockery, the flogging, the suffering, and the execution; that we like the women disciples, will remain faithful, purposeful, and peaceful all the way to the tomb.

In the shadow of death and grief, renew our spirits to courageously stand against the evil rulers, the authorities, and the powers of this dark world.

May we be resilient until the stone is rolled away, the bonds of death are broken, and the power of evil is defeated. May we remain faithful until love is finally won, peace is fully realized, and liberty and justice are enjoyed by all.

Anointing a Movement

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Lent, Sermons Year CLeave a comment

John 12:1-8 NRSV

Palm Sunday is just a week away, and you know what that means. Well, at least according to the Revised Common Lectionary, it’s time to gather around the table with Jesus for an unforgettable dinner party where so much more is happening around, and under the table, than we can imagine.

In fact, there must be more happening around this table, or this whacky supper scene would be like some bizarre, meaningless dream, like the kind we have when we’re sick with a fever.

It’s a scene that begs us to take a deep dive, asking some serious questions.

Because, seated at the head of the table is none other than Lazarus, who just a few weeks ago was dead and buried. And this is no Weekend at Bernie’s situation! Lazarus is alive and kicking, because a few days ago, Jesus stood at his grave, called him by name, and raised him from the dead.

What on earth can this mean? That Jesus is at the table with Lazarus, who was dead and buried but is now asking someone to please pass the gravy!

We are told that Lazarus’ sister Martha is serving. Sounds like Martha. Always busy in the kitchen. His sister Mary’s also there. But she’s in the dining room with Jesus. Something else that makes sense, as we might remember Jesus’ visit with Mary and Martha as told by Luke.

But it’s what Mary does next that completely floors us! As Mary literally gets in the floor! The scene under the table is almost as insane as the living and breathing presence of Lazarus at the table! She’s down there anointing Jesus’ feet with a pound of very expensive perfume. Think about that! A pound of perfume! Of course, the fragrance fills the entire house.

Then, we have another surprise. Judas, the disciple whom John says is about to betray Jesus, is also at the table. Jesus is at the table with both friend and foe, ally and adversary. And just as we start to ponder the meaning such an inclusive, open table, Judas shocks us by asking a question that we can easily imagine Jesus asking, “Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor?”

But just when we think that we have seen and heard everything, we are floored again by Jesus’ response: “The poor you will always have with you. You will not always have me.”

Oh, Jesus. I sure wished you hadn’t said that.

 Because Jesus, although it sounds absurd, because it is absurd, Christians will use that one sentence to justify ignoring over 2,000 verses in the Bible calling for economic justice and a civic responsibility to care for the poor, marginalized, and oppressed. Jesus, I know this sounds ridiculous, because it is ridiculous, Christians will make their faith solely about worshipping at your feet, praising you, instead of following you. In fact, they will worship you while embracing a way of life, that is the exact opposite of following you.

They will stand behind and support the Herods of this world who defund programs that serve the poor. They will bless authoritarians who cut humanitarian aid, leaving food intended to feed the hungry to rot in ports and warehouses. They will support tyrants who suspend refugee resettlement programs, who target and remove from the country certain ethnic groups without any due process or legal counsel. They will support executive orders criminalizing migrants, dismantling public education, that take away healthcare, eliminate food assistance and public health services, remove environmental protections, and deny science. And in the place of fair, progressive taxes, they will bless rulers who institute tariffs, causing the cost of goods and services to skyrocket, hitting the poorest amongst us the hardest—all to enrich the already ultra-rich.

And preachers, who claim Christian, will gather on Sunday morning, stand in pulpits, and not say one word about it. They will shrug their shoulders, and using your name, say something like: “Poverty? Well, there’s really nothing we can do about that. Like Jesus said, we’ll always have the poor among us.

So, Jesus, I really wished you hadn’t said that.

But you are Jesus. So, you must have a had a pretty good reason for saying it.

Hmm. Let’s think about this… You said it the context of this whacky dinner party where there is so much more going than we know.

Lazarus was dead and buried, but he’s now sitting upright and taking nourishment! Mary is under the table anointing your feet with this expensive perfume that she purchased for your burial, to anoint your dead body. Hmmm.

In the home of one who had been brought back to life from the dead, instead of anointing your dead body, she is anointing your living body.”

Jesus, I think we are beginning to see a theme here.

At a table, belonging to Lazarus, who had been called out of death into life, Mary anoints not the death of Jesus, but the life of Jesus. Mary anoints the living Jesus, the living way of Jesus, the living movement of Jesus.

So, maybe in defending the anointing of Mary to Judas, Jesus wasn’t saying that we can’t do anything about poverty. Jesus was saying that doing something about poverty in this world is going to take more than selling some perfume and writing a check. Eradicating poverty is going to take more than charity. It’s going to take a living movement. It’s going to take embracing a way of life, a holy movement, that challenges the corrupt systems of injustice, that resists the Empire, and speaks truth to power.

This whacky dinner party is beginning to make sense to us now, as it seems to me that one of the problems with the church today is that too many Christians prefer the dead feet of Jesus over the living feet of Jesus.. Just ask them: “Who is Jesus to you?” They’ll respond: “The one who died for my sins.”

They prefer the dead feet of Jesus over the living feet of Jesus that takes steps to bring good news to the poor and to the marginalized, the feet that takes a stand to liberate the oppressed, the feet that stands at the bedside of the sick brining life to the dying, and feet that even stands outside a tomb bringing life to the dead.

Jesus didn’t die for anyone’s sin. Jesus died because of sin. Jesus died because the Empire preferred a dead Jesus about personal and private salvation over a living Jesus about political and societal transformation.

In anointing the living feet of Jesus, Mary was anointing a movement—a dynamic, public, political movement of feet standing for justice, a movement of feet marching for peace, a movement of feet making strides for acceptance, belonging, diversity, equity, and inclusion.

Mary was anointing a way of living, a movement that put legs and feet on thoughts and prayers, that walks the extra mile to bless the poor, filling the hungry with good things and sending the rich away empty.

At the dinner table of Lazarus who had been called out of death into life, Jesus is calling us out of death into life: “Do you want to do something that changes the world? Do you really want to do something about poverty? Then don’t embrace my dead body lying in a tomb. Embrace the life I am living, the way I am walking, the movement I am embodying. Walk the walk, take the steps, and make the stands I am making.”

Like he did while standing in front of the tomb of Lazarus, I believe Jesus is calling us out of death today. He is calling us by name, begging us to come out to become his living feet in this world.

I love the way the Apostle Paul states this truth in the fifth chapter of his letter to the Ephesians:

Wake up from your sleep!  Climb out of your coffins! Christ will show you the light!

So, watch your step. (C’mon Paul! He’s saying, “Watch how you march, where you stand.”)

Use your head. Make the most of every chance you get. (And listen to this next sentence) These are desperate times!

So, don’t live carelessly, unthinkingly  (I hear: “Please don’t willfully misinterpret Jesus to avoid your responsibility to the poor. ‘Cause more than two thousand verses of scripture can’t be wrong.”)

Then, Paul says: “Make sure you understand what the Master wants” (Ephesians 5:14-17 MSG).

And what does the Master want?

The Master wants a movement. The Master needs us to do more than support a charity. The Master wants a movement. The Master wants fearless feet that march against all the forces of death in the world— the forces of greed, selfishness, disease, and violence—marching in a movement to raise the entire creation back to life!

The Master wants compassionate feet that take a stand for mercy, empathetic feet that walk in the shoes of another.

The Master wants gracious feet that run to welcome a stranger

The Master wants quick feet that jump to defend someone being oppressed, strong, determined feet that never retreat, give in, or give out.

The Master wants tireless feet that can stand for over 25 hours on a senate floor to proclaim words of love and truth, liberty and justice, fairness and equality, kindness, and decency to a nation in crisis.

The Master wants courageous feet that can stand in the street for two hours in the bright springtime sun on a Saturday afternoon in front of city hall to call out greed, bigotry, and corruption.

The Master wants caring feet that can stand for an hour in a silent vigil to be a public, prophetic witness for justice, or for just three minutes to speak truth to power at a meeting of the city council.

Six days after this dinner at Lazarus’ house, Jesus is, once again, at a table with his disciples. It would be his final dinner before nails are driven into his feet, as well as his hands. After the dinner, Jesus gets up from the table, takes off his robe, and ties a towel around himself. He then pours water into a basin and begins washing the feet of the disciples, wiping them with the towel around him.

Now, many will say that he was just teaching his disciples how to be a servant. But those of us who just have read the previous chapter… we have this idea that he is teaching us something more. Jesus was anointing a movement. Because Jesus knows that eradicating poverty and the problems of this world is going to take more than volunteering to serve in a soup kitchen. It’s going to take a movement—an anointed, living, dynamic, breathing, alive and kicking, nonviolent, courageous, public, street-taking, truth-telling, peace-making, mercy-seeking, justice-doing, forward-marching, love-infused, prophet-inspired, Spirit-empowered, Jesus-led movement.

Are we ready to be the feet in such a movement? The times are indeed desperate, so I pray we are.  Amen.